


Every Tempest I Abide

by raineyraven



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Discrimination, Family, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrids, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Misunderstandings, Older Sibling Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Swearing, Traveling, Trust, Violence, beta read by kodi, love u kodi ur very pog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28467207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raineyraven/pseuds/raineyraven
Summary: Tommy loves his life. He lives with his family as a wanderer, never staying in one place too long, battling monsters and exploring the untouched reaches of the world.When Tommy gets separated from them and forced to flee his home, he is thrust on a journey to find his way back, meeting friend and foe along the way. Will he overcome his battles and return to his family? Or will he fall prey to the secrets hidden within the shadows of the land?Alternatively: Everything is out to get Tommy, and the poor kid cannot catch a break.(A Tommy-centric story set in a Minecraft world with fantasy elements.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 31
Kudos: 165





	1. Thief

**Author's Note:**

> hi uh this is my first ever fic, so I hope you enjoy! I've never used ao3 before so constructive criticism on my tagging and formatting would be great.

Some days, Tommy mused that he was braver than the sun itself. For although its dawning light burned against the nape of his neck as he gripped and pulled himself over sun-kissed rock, a cloak of heat around his shoulders, even the sky recognized he braved the shadows sunlight dare not touch, uncovered secrets the light could never find.

With a final push, he heaved himself onto a rough ledge, pebbles tumbling down the steep heights as he panted for breath, blowing the hair from his face. From his perch on the cliff face he could observe the entire valley, the forest dancing in the peaceful breeze. The morning sun kissed his cheeks in welcome.

_Good morning to you, too, coward._

He turned his gaze from the knife-slash of gold bleeding from the sky to the land below, glancing across its expanse. Through the middle of the valley cut the Greywaters; too shallow for canoeing, but good for fishing in the spring when the salmon come up from the sea. In the south beyond the hills were the moors where reindeer grew fat on moss in the winter. The neighboring cliffs met his gaze from the north, where the birds of prey settled during nesting season, dubbed “the Eyries” by Phil. Below his ledge he knew Tubbo was combing through the boulders at the foot of the cliff, foraging for roots or herbs or whatever other edibles for rations, though Tommy didn’t fancy glancing down the heights he was upon to confirm his friend’s activities.

Tommy stretched before returning to his climb, soon losing himself in the familiar rhythm as his hands found handhold after handhold, feet finding foothold after foothold.

He gripped a jutting rock of andesite, starting to pull himself up before it gave way beneath his palm. He lost his grip and caught himself on his left hand, the short fall jolting his shoulder. A shout of shock from below him sounded. It might’ve been Tubbo. Ignoring it, he righted himself, pulling himself over the top a mere moment’s later.

His searching gaze soon found what he was looking for. Pulling himself up, he stood to face the cave entrance, the yawning mouth like a dragon’s jaw, darkness waiting to swallow him whole.

From his satchel he produced a glass bottle, silvery liquid bubbling inside. Though most caves weren’t exactly difficult to traverse, considering the contents of this particular system he was grateful his friend had given him the potion to aid in his task.

Tommy felt the change in atmosphere almost immediately as he stepped into the cavern, the light, peaceful air of the forest banished and replaced with the feeling of unforgiving stone pressing in on all sides. Already he felt wariness coiling like a defensive snake in his chest, the whispers of mob-summoning shadows crowing for his fear.

Tommy shivered. He really doesn’t like caves.

When the sunlight left his sight and the oppressive shadows began crowding around him, he chugged the potion, shuddering at the off-putting feeling of becoming invisible. Bones, flesh, skin, clothes, all melted away to nothingness at his consumption of the brew, leaving only a floating, empty bottle. Stashing it away, he lit a small lantern, the tiny flame providing barely any light. It was small enough to snuffle at the first hint of trouble.

Pathetic light in hand, he began making his way down the shaded path. He walked carefully, silent as a ghost, traversing the track of loose rocks with the grace of a wildcat.

His first obstacle was quick to present itself, a groaning zombie with tattered clothes and a breaking shovel in its weak grip. Hiding the lantern, Tommy triggered the sheaths on his arms. Into his hands fell his blades, two slender knives of silvery steel. The zombie failed to notice.

A moment later had Tommy at the monster’s back, driving his knife through its rotting ribcage. It released a strange groan-gasp before falling, body dissolving into smoke and dust. Wiping the clotted blood of the undead on his trousers, Tommy continued.

A soft glow beyond the light of his lantern sent his eyes widening in triumph. He soon enough spotted a wall of mossy cobblestone, cracks running through every inch of its surface. A cage stood inside the room, gleaming faintly with Nether flames that danced along its bars.

Ears reaching out for sounds from the shadows, he heard the gentle rattle of bones. Tommy smothered a sigh of relief. Had it been a zombie or spider spawner, it would have been much more difficult to get past them and to the chests invisible, what with zombies’ clumsiness and spiders’ agility to have them bump into him.

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have needed to sneak past the plethora of mobs to obtain the loot. He would’ve enlisted the help of someone else to help him fight through the monsters swarming the spawner. But Techno was away, aiding in the defeat of a pillager outpost with some other adventurers. Wilbur was busy collecting the spoils of the snares he and Tommy had set up the previous night, and Phil was tailoring their winter clothes to make them more suitable for spring. He didn’t have the time to wait for them, they were breaking camp tomorrow, getting ready to travel upriver.

Besides, Tommy was a master of stealth. He could handle this on his own!

Snuffing out his lantern, he dropped from the tunnel in the wall, creeping through the group of skeletons, gaze set on the loot by the monster spawner. He flinched violently as two skeletons spawned right in front of him, but quickly avoided them as they started clattering towards him, shoulder to the wall of the dungeon.

He approached the first chest, carefully unlatching it whilst keeping the skeletons in the corner of his eye. Inside was a lump of rotten flesh, several bones, a few pieces of coal. Tommy felt his hope dwindling as he searched the box.

Tommy’s hand closed around something scratchy and he grinned in victory.

He retrieved a pair of small grey pouches. He untied one and peered inside, making out the shapes of watermelon seeds. The other pouch was bigger, and clinked as he opened it. Inside was nearly a stack of golden nuggets. All the loot Tubbo said would be up here.

Tommy didn’t know nearly as much about brewing as Tubbo did, but he did know health potions were one of the more expensive potions to buy, as well as difficult to make, considering melons were a luxury this far north in the world.

Pocketing his finds, he turned to the opposite wall. There was another chest there, beckoning to be opened. He glanced toward the exit, to the skeletons milling around the cavern. He really should get going.

The potion was set to last at least another ten minutes. He would be fine.

The lid gave way for his fingers and he reached inside the chest, rooting around in it as he had the previous. There were stale loaves of bread, stiff tufts of wheat –

His fingers closed around a tin capsule. He squinted at it, making out the outline of a label. _Redstone._

He shrugged, moving to put it in his satchel. He was fairly sure redstone lengthened potions. Or made them stronger. Something along those lines. Even if Tubbo had no use for it, he’s sure Wilbur or Phil would find something to do with it.

A glint under the redstone container caught Tommy’s eye, and he strangled a gasp before it could escape his throat, settling instead for grinning like an idiot. He reached his hand down and his fingers brushed a music disc, purple centre gleaming magically.

He stashed it away quickly, joyous over the success of his looting. Though they didn’t often have access to a jukebox, music discs tended to remind him of his time before Wilbur, Techno and Phil. When it was him and Tubbo against the world. Despite the discontentment Tommy had in his life before, some good memories were there among the ire and melancholy of his past.

Tommy smiled, moving to stand and leave this creepy place. It was then a whizzing of air by his ear sent him rigid as a log, and an arrow lodged itself into the cobble mere inches from his head.

He whirled around, his heart a fistful of thunder in his chest. The sight he was met with was two glaring skeletons, holding bows knocked with badly crafted arrows, aiming straight for him.

He dived out of the way and drew his knives in one fluid motion as the other skeleton’s arrow embedded the wall where his abdomen had been a second before. His arm was in his vision, no longer invisible.

Breathless, he bolted out of the dungeon, only to be met with the sight of half a dozen waiting skeletons, arrows knocked and pointed straight at him. The exit stood on the opposite side of the cavern, nearly a dozen feet off the ground.

Gritting his teeth, Tommy launched himself forward as a pair of skeletons loosed their arrows. Both missed him, and he heard a clattering noise of what Tommy assumed was an arrow hitting the skeleton behind him. He swung out his blade and it connected with the head of one of the mobs, knocking the skull from its spine. A clattering of bones on stone filled the cave as the magic holding the skeleton together failed, the mob becoming a pile of bones on the ground, quickly dissolving into smoke and dust.

He swung around in time to see an arrow pointed at his heart, the wielder in melee range. He ducked and twisted, knocking the bow from the skeleton’s hands and dragging his knives through its ribcage, killing it. In the corner of his eye he saw three skeletons locked in a bow duel with one another, the brainless bastards too stupid to tell ally apart from target.

Turning his back to them, Tommy bolted for the exit, launching himself over boulders of granite and pulling himself over the wall. His hand felt purchase on the ledge, and his pulse quickened as he began to pull himself up, escape mere paces away.

Tommy cried out as his calf exploded in pain, hot blood running down his ankle in streams, something foreign lodged in his flesh.

With a shout of frustration and a final push he was back in the tunnel, cold stone hard against his shoulder, his heart beating painfully in his chest.

He didn’t pause long. The second the sound of another arrow being knocked reached his ears he disappeared into the shadows of the cave, sprinting with all the grace of a new born foal.

Even through the haze of adrenaline, Tommy felt the whispers of the underground reaching for him, begging for his return.

\-----

By the time he was in the safe grasp of the sunlight once more, Tommy’s leg had begun sending tremors of agony through him as his adrenaline wore off, his heart in his throat and thumping like a jackrabbit. He steadied his breathing, freeing his canteen from his belt and downing the cold water, focusing on the cooling feeling it brought to his throat.

He fell to the ground with a sigh, relaxing on the soft moss between the cave mouth and the cliff edge. A waterfall thundered to his left, the endless, cyclical flow of the river running down to a lake far below.

Tommy rooted through his satchel until he found bandages, getting to work on his injury. He examined the arrow still embedded in his calf and, thanking the skies it wasn’t barbed, yanked it from his flesh with a muffled grunt. He went about the process of washing and dressing the puncture wound, teeth gritted. He frowned as he wondered how he would get down the several dozen paces of cliff face to return to the ground. He was a great climber, though he doubted even he could manage to climb down before his wound had a chance to heal.

His gaze wandered to the waterfall, its endless roaring awakening a feeling of wildness inside him. How special it was, something so completely untamable, so unheeding to the world it resided in, thundered only a few paces away. He smiled at the thought.

An idea hit him with the force of a flood.

Rising to his feet, he peered over the edge to the lake below. The water was deep, navy depths gleaming with sunrays.

Phil had told him before that you cannot die from falling into water. Can it hurt a lot? Absolutely. But you can’t die from it.

Though the water was quite a ways down, Tommy didn’t think it would be too painful to fall into, if he fell correctly. Even before learning to climb, how to balance on a tree branch or scale a rock wall, he had learnt to fall, how to minimize the damage and absorb the most shock. The knowledge had saved him from sticky situations aplenty.

He turned his gaze to the land below him, searching for a figure in green.

"Tubbo!" He called.

A brown-haired figure in a green button-up kirtle glanced up the rockface from where he was hunched over a rucksack, his gaze soon finding his brother’s. The boy watched as Tommy removed his satchel and dangled it over the edge. Obviously confused yet still understanding what his brother wanted, Tubbo moved to the foot of the cliff.

Tommy released the strap and the bag fell down to Tubbo’s grasp. Now it won’t get wet. All he had on him now was his pickaxe and blades.

Ignoring the continuous pounding of dulled pain in his leg, he moved over to the ledge above the lake. The sunlight danced as it entangled itself in the mist of the falling waters, the air it touched flaming with iridescent hues. His pulse quickened as he prepared to jump, grinning at the prospect of the challenge.

A final moment with his feet on the firm, lichen-covered rocks. Then, he was in the air, wind whipping past him, bellowing its power into his ears.

Tommy smiled wider as he shut his eyes. It almost felt like he was flying. Flying at an incredibly steep angle, but flying nonetheless.

The water was a cool slap to the face, and he reveled in it, letting the numbingly cold water wash over him, drench him. He was thankful the fall was kind to him, his body only stung slightly from the impact. He opened his eyes and kicked, breaking the surface with a gasp that was more of triumph than it was a need for air. The sun warmed his face. _It’s pretty warm for this time of year,_ Tommy thought idly.

Tubbo was waiting for him as he approached the shore.

"Are you alright? Why on earth would you do that?" Tubbo asked, worry lacing his voice as he helped his brother out of the water.

"I thought jumping from fifty-odd paces into the water would be a fun experience," he replied nonchalantly. "Also, I got shot."

"What!?"

Tommy laughed. "It’s fine, just got shot in my calf, nothing some food won’t fix."

Tubbo’s gaze strayed down to the bandage around Tommy’s leg, visibly relieved it wasn’t a serious injury. "Alright, let’s go get you healed up so we can head back, I want to try and sell the potions at the nearby village before we break camp."

Soon enough the two boys were relaxing in the sun-dappled shade of a juniper tree, Tubbo examining the loot Tommy had retrieved while the blond boy ate some dried deer meet, his wound healing as the food digested. The pain had dulled to an ache, which went entirely ignored as Tommy recounted his adventure to Tubbo, with some harmless exaggeration thrown in to give the story some flair.

Eventually the discussion drifted to their planned travels, speculating where they’d go and what they’d do over the next few months.

"I can’t wait for the Salmon Run. Last time we went it was so fruitful, we had salmon cakes to last months, with even more fish to sell!" Tubbo reminisced as the two began packing their things for the journey back to camp.

Tommy enjoyed the annual Salmon Runs too. Traveler groups, wandering clans and nomads of all kinds from the northern forests often met upriver to partake in the gathering of the abundance of food. It was almost a festival, friends and strangers meeting, sharing their spoils, discussing the events of the northern regions. It was fun, peaceful. It had been a good choice of theirs to travel to the northern forests for spring.

"If I remember correctly, most of that was thanks to me," Tommy remarked, laughter in his voice.

"You do _not_ remember correctly, Techno and I completely crushed you in that spear-fishing competition," Tubbo reminded him, mock-glaring.

"Pretty sure you didn’t! I’m the best fisher this side of the forest!"

"You fell in and got your foot stuck in the rocks."

Tommy waved his hand dismissively at Tubbo as he shouldered his pack. "Eh, the details aren’t important."

The two laughed, the sweet sound filling the air like wind-blown pollen. Finishing their packing, the two brothers retrieved their tools and began the trek back to camp, the shadows of swaying leaves dancing upon the sun-lit forest floor.

"We didn’t get to explore the roofed forest last time we went upriver," Tommy recalled.

Tubbo hummed. "That could be fun."

"It’s apparently supposed to be really spooky and mysterious, with strange mobs that spawn during the day and weird ancient and abandoned structures and stuff."

"Isn’t it a biome usually inhabited by illagers?"

"Maybe," Tommy shrugged. Illagers weren’t as common in this region of the world. He knew most tended to dwell in the east or the south, but it wasn’t impossible to see some up north. That was where Techno had gone, after all, after hearing a pillager outpost had been set up by the mountains where the mountain villages resided.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence as they picked their way through the forest and back to camp. The warbles of cardinals and finches filled the sweet spring air, and Tommy noticed all the fruits and flowers beginning to bloom, martens and lemmings scurrying away from them as the two boys interrupted their foraging for roots and nuts. They crossed a swathe of spruce and birch with freshly-broken branches littering the ground, leafmould trampled into the dirt, making it clear a forest horse herd had traveled through there. They passed a burrow with black and white hairs snagged on the roots by its entrance, identifying its resident as a badger. The wind almost sang as it passed through the twisting and towering trees.

Of all the places Tommy traveled with his family in all but blood, the northern forests were probably some of his favorite places. Most of the land was completely forested since no one had yet bothered to tame the land out here. The forest’s human inhabitants consisted mostly of wanderer groups, nomad clans and the mountain villages at its edges. It was wonderfully wild, always holding secrets to find, a new place to explore.

When they returned to camp, Wilbur still hadn’t returned. Phil was rhythmically stitching a pair of winter clothes, humming a tune. Notos was nestled in a branch behind him, the tawny owl quiet and slumbering.

The older man looked up as the two entered the clearing. "Hey, welcome back."

The two boys greeted him and Tubbo went to organize the loot, disappearing behind a tent flap. Tommy approached Phil.

"Is Wilbur not back yet?" He queried. He didn’t think it would take this long to check the snares.

"No," Phil confirmed. "Do you want to go see if he needs help? I’ve got nothing for you to do here."

Tommy nodded, turning to return his rucksack and pickaxe to his belongings, keeping his satchel of rations, equipment and healing items, his axe and knives, and retrieving his bow and quiver from his tent.

A cawing filled his ears, and he turned to face the sky as half a dozen ravens explode from the canopy, taking loudly for the firmament. Brows furrowing, he turned toward the tree line.

A moment later, Wilbur ran from the shadows, looking harried. He had no dead prey on him, nor foraged goods. Before either Tommy or Phil could get a question out, Wilbur explained, slightly out of breath. "There’s a thief."

"What?" Tommy and Phil asked in unison. From the corner of his eye he saw Tubbo sticking his head out of the tent, head cocked in confusion.

"The snares had been set off, but there was nothing in them," Wilbur elaborated, crossing the clearing to them. Notos, having awoken, glided over, alighting gracefully on Wilbur’s shoulder.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you didn’t just forget to animal-proof them?"

Understanding what Tommy was referencing, Wilbur threw up his hands in frustration, startling his owl. "You were there with me when we set them up! And that only happened once!"

"Twice, actually," Tommy jabbed, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Wait, wait," Phil interjected, still concerned over Wilbur’s original claim. "There’s a thief?"

Wilbur nodded. "Yeah, human tracks by the snares."

"Could it be a one of those pillager scouting parties that have been spotted around here?" Tubbo asked, emerging from the tent.

Wilbur shrugged. "Maybe."

"How many were there?" Phil questioned.

"Maximum of two."

"Well let’s got find them!" Tommy exclaimed.

"Tommy-" Phil began.

Tommy turned to the older man. "Didn’t you say you had two quiverfuls of arrows missing? That might’ve been the thief as well. We should find them, warn them not to come again."

"We’re breaking camp soon, anyway. Perhaps they won’t follow."

"But they could," Wilbur reasoned, taking Tommy’s side. "Besides, it’s not like we’re the only party in this part of the forest. We should chase them out before they can cause any more harm."

Phil sighed. "Alright. Who’s going then?"

"I’ll go with Tommy," Wilbur said.

"I’ll tag along, too," Tubbo piped.

With that settled, the three packed their tools and equipment before leaving soon after, assuring Phil of their safety before disappearing into the shadows of dripping spruce and twisted yew.

\-----

The forest air was filled with the aroma of rainclouds, ready to release their waters any second. The clouds didn’t look too thick or grey, the rains coming were likely one of early spring’s light and sudden showers. Still, Tommy didn’t fancy getting caught in the rain, particularly since they were downhill, and had passed by several rivers and creeks. Flash floods were a very real possibility.

"Let’s head back," Wilbur said, voicing Tommy’s thoughts. "If they show themselves again, we can try finding them again."

The two teens agreed, turning on their heels along with Wilbur. Notos flew down from the skies and landed on Wilbur’s shoulder, hooting pleasantly. The tall man retrieved a strip of jerky from his pocket and handed it to him, watching as the bird flew away, prize grasped in his talons. Tommy watched the exchange silently. Tubbo walked silently behind them, enraptured by a bee perched on his finger.

"I think I’d like a bird," Tommy remarked, thinking aloud as he often did.

Wilbur turned to the boy trotting beside him, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Tommy grinned. "Yeah, and I’d be a great bird owner too. I’d teach it all kinds of tricks, it’d lead me to the best prey. What kind of bird do you think would suit me?"

Wilbur brought a hand to his chin, pulling a jokingly thoughtful face. "A flamingo. Extroverted, loud and flamboyant."

Tubbo barked a laugh from behind them as Tommy donned a mock-offended expression. He was about to snap back at Wilbur when Tubbo interrupted, trotting to catch up with the two.

"How about a kookaburra?" He asked. Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever seen one of those birds, he thinks they’re native to the southern islands. "They scream and laugh like there’s no tomorrow."

The trio laughed, smiles splitting their faces.

"Maybe I’ll get a trickster bird," Tommy said. "Something that can be as good a thief as me!"

Wilbur snorted. "Oh please, I met you after you failed to steal from me!"

Tommy raised his brow and brushed past Wilbur, moving so he was facing the brunette and walking backwards. "It just simply wasn’t my best day," Tommy chuckled.

Wilbur scoffed, playful smile dancing along his features. The playfulness melted when Tommy flashed him a wolfish grin, and brought up his hand, a jingling cloth pouch dangling from his fingers. Wilbur’s hands flew to his pockets, pulling out a rock where the pouch of gold he kept for safekeeping had been moments before. Tommy laughed, clutching his side as Wilbur turned his confused face toward his younger brother.

Then, the older man lunged for Tommy, reaching for the pouch, but the blond was ready, sidestepping and launching himself up a yew tree with practiced ease. Traversing the tree nimbly as Wilbur shouted up at him indignantly, he found his way to a branch overhanging a frustrated Wilbur and bemused Tubbo. Looping his legs around the sturdy branch, he hung himself upside down, dangling the pouch within Wilbur’s reach. His land-bound brother jumped for it, only for it to be pulled from his reach as his fingertips brushed it. Tubbo was gasping from laughter at the sight of an out-of-reach Tommy mocking Wilbur, who was still shouting, though laughter laced his tone. Soon, all three were laughing, filling the forest air with the joyous sound.

Then, Wilbur cried out in pain, and the forest exploded.


	2. By Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy has no sense of self-preservation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the love on the last chapter!! Enjoy!

Tommy was on his feet in a second, knives drawn and feet spread in a fighting stance as he swiftly assessed the situation. A group of half a dozen men had erupted from the bracken, clad in leathers and iron and donning gleefully murderous expressions. Some held swords. Some hefted axes. One had an unloaded crossbow in his grasp. From the corner of his eye Tommy spotted Wilbur, who was doubled over and clutching his side where the shaft of an arrow was sticking out.

"Pillagers!" He shouted.

Tubbo was one step ahead of him, having already knocked an arrow in his bow. The pillagers shouted as an arrow lodged itself in one of their member’s arms. They began advancing, snarls etched upon their grey faces.

"Run!" Tommy yelled.

He grabbed Wilbur’s arm and began sprinting as Tubbo fired another shot at the advancing pillagers. He shot the one who had hurt Wilbur in the chest, and the man fell to the ground.

Wilbur was still clutching his side as blood poured from the wound, clearly in no shape to fight. Tubbo loosed another arrow before turning on his heel and sprinting, barely avoiding an iron sword to the neck.

Tubbo caught up with them and Tommy fell in behind them. Tubbo reached to grab Wilbur’s arm to keep him upright.

"I’m fine," Wilbur assured him. Even still, he allowed Tubbo to drag him along.

They ran through the forest, desperately searching for a way out, a way to lose the pillagers. Tommy ran behind his brothers, doubling back to distract the pillagers whenever they got too close before catching up once more.

As they crashed through bracken and fern, Tommy cursed himself for not expecting an attack. His bow sat strapped to his baldric, yet to be strung. He wouldn’t have the time to string it now and help Tubbo shoot the attackers.

Although Wilbur was injured, the trio managed to stay ahead of their pursuers. They knew the forest like the pillagers didn’t, and despite their wounded companion, they weaved through the trees with practiced ease. The pillagers, clothed in heavy wear and wielding larger weapons, were much slower.

However, Wilbur was quickly losing blood, and pillagers are infamous for their seemingly endless stamina. They were the prey in this hunt, and the hunters would chase them until they could move no longer.

Tubbo’s breathless voice cut through his thoughts. "The ravine!"

Tommy immediately caught on. The trees around them were thinning, and in their places rose mounds of mossy boulders. They were headed to the stone plains.

He and Techno had gone to this area a week before to see if they could find any caves with easy iron or coal by their entrances, as the area was riddled with tunnels and caverns. They had come across a gargantuan ravine, settled in a field of boulders and going deep into the earth. There was bound to be an escape there.

"Let’s go!" Tommy agreed, swerving to the direction he knew the crack in the earth was. The shouts of pillagers still sounded behind them, but the three brothers ran with renewed vigor.

Before long they had descended a steep slope of gravel and found themselves at the edge of the ravine, peering down its height to the watery depths below. The odd conifer rose from the pebbly ground, towering over them, and mounds of sarsens dotted the craggy land. They were out of sight of the pillagers, but the sounds of their attackers were growing closer by the moment.

"Over there!"

Tommy glanced to where Tubbo was pointing. A large, felled tree, some kind of conifer, had fallen over the expanse of the chasm, providing a natural bridge across. If they could cross it, they could push it into the ravine before the pillagers caught up, buying them some time.

"Come on!" Tommy said, already running toward it.

The blond boy stole a glance over his shoulder, checking on Wilbur. The tall man’s gait was very off, and he had slowed more than either Tommy or Tubbo had. The arrow had yet to be pulled from his side, as doing so would only cause him to bleed out quicker. The shaft rubbing against punctured flesh must have been incredibly painful, yet he didn’t make a sound, expression set in unwavering determination. Tommy frowned before re-focusing on the path, slowing as they reached the fallen tree.

Wilbur climbed on and began crossing first, closely followed by Tubbo to make sure the wounded man didn’t fall. Tommy waited, knives poised at the ready in his grip, listening as the sounds of the approaching pillagers grew, eyes set on the peak of the gravel slope.

"Tommy!" Wilbur called.

Tommy turned to where his brothers stood on the other side of the gaping ravine. Wilbur was now leaning against Tubbo, using the teen as support. There was no way he could run much farther. The two were beckoning him over.

Tommy ran through the outcomes of the situation in his head, picking through possibilities as if he were combing through sheafs of an old book. If they continued running, eventually they’d be forced to stop when Wilbur inevitably couldn’t continue. If they looped back around to camp, the pillagers would track them back there, and the three of them would be too exhausted to fight. If Tubbo and Wilbur had come to the same conclusion Tommy had, they didn’t show it.

The shouts were getting closer, tracking them through the field of boulders. Tommy’s heart clenched, a renewed feeling of determination washing over him like a tidal wave.

Wilbur was the first to understand what Tommy was doing. He shouted at the younger boy as Tommy pressed his back to the boulder by the trunk and placed his feet on the wood. The yelling grew desperate as Tommy began pushing the large tree with his legs, heaving the bottom of the fallen tree towards the edge with all his might. The shouting of his family mixed with the noises of the approaching pillagers. He blocked out both.

Blood roared in Tommy’s ears as he strained to push the massive tree into the chasm. His legs ached from running and only grew more pained as he shoved at the tree, but he knew he didn’t have enough strength to be able to get the tree anywhere if he switched to his arms. A sprinkle of rainwater started hitting Tommy’s skin, and he welcomed the coolness it brought as he strained.

With a frustrated shout and a final shove, the tree tipped into the ravine, falling with a crash to the bottom.

Breathless, Tommy glanced up to the two on the opposite side. Tubbo and Wilbur looked on, horrified. They were so close, a mere stone-throw away, yet so far.

With a sharp inhale of the cool spring air, Tommy turned and ran up the slope from which they had come, heedless to the pleads behind him.

The pillagers were far too close when Tommy reached the hill’s peak. They noticed Tommy immediately, and he barely avoided an arrow to the head as they shot at him.

Satisfied they were focused on him, he ran away from the ravine, headed for wooded lands once more. The thundering of heavy boots behind him sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins yet again.

When the trees had thickened and Tommy and his pursuers had left the craggy land behind, Tommy headed south, away from the campsite of his family. He matched the pillagers’ pace, keeping just out of crossbow range as he led them away.

The trees passed by in blurs of brown and green as Tommy ran. He sank to his knees in bogs and vaulted over fallen trees and trickling creeks, always listening to make sure the pillagers were following. He wasn’t worried, he had no doubt he could lose them if he wished. He just had to get them far enough away to allow his family time to break camp and leave to somewhere the pillagers couldn’t find them, before he would lose the pillagers and circle back around to find them.

Tommy hoped Tubbo had gotten Wilbur back. They had plenty of treatment equipment back at camp, Wilbur should be fine.

It was a while later when the rain had stopped, the sun starting its descent from its peak when Tommy glanced over his shoulder, checking on his pursuers. He saw three of them far behind, the other two presumably blocked from sight by the foliage. They were slowing, struggling more and more with navigating the forest floor. Tommy grinned. He felt like he could run forever.

He turned back on his path, readying to sprint away and lose them in the winding forest.

Suddenly, Tommy heard something heavy in the bushes. He paused, ears straining. The only foreign noises he heard were the sounds of the pillagers, still steadily approaching.

It was probably nothing. He was just being paranoid.

He turned to his southward trajectory once again.

Suddenly, two figures leaped from the shadows in front of him. Tommy stumbled back with a shout as the pillagers advanced, swords drawn. How had they gotten ahead of him?

The pillagers behind him were approaching rapidly now, sprinting for him. Tommy dodged the sword of one of the ambushers and darted to the side, sprinting erratically. They were hot on his tail, his pursuers fanning out behind him, keeping him from swerving to either side. It was almost as if they were herding him somewhere. His breath tore at his throat painfully. He had to get away.

He attempted to swerve for the left. An arrow narrowly missing his head sent him scrambling right back. He searched desperately around for escape.

Tommy halted as a wide rockface suddenly filled his vision. He cursed, swinging back to the direction he came from.

The sight he was greeted with was of several pillagers leaping through the trees, weapons at the ready and murderous gazes set on him.

Tommy barely had time to draw his knives before the pillagers descended on him.

Tommy ducked and dodged and slashed and kicked, but his efforts did little. He was outnumbered, fighting men twice his size and clad in heavy armor. It wasn’t long before his bloodied blades had fallen to the floor, the blood of his opponents and his own staining the grass crimson. They grabbed for him, tearing off his red bandana in the process. He struggled and shouted as his arms were wrenched behind his back, the strong grip of a pillager keeping him from running. The pillagers yelled in a language he didn’t understand, and he vaguely registered their stench in his nose, the scent of a mob that was almost human but not quite.

Exhausted from the fight, Tommy could only watch as a loaded crossbow was trained at his chest, gloved fingers hovering readily over the trigger.

Tommy met the pillager’s gaze in defiance. He would meet death with his eyes open, standing on his own two feet.

He sent a silent apology to his family in all but blood.

All of a sudden, an angry screech filled the air, and a blur of tawny feathers swooped for the pillager, talons extended. The pillager screamed as the owl’s sharp claws dug into his arm, forcing him to drop the crossbow.

Seizing the opportunity, Tommy threw his head back with all his might, his skull connecting with the pillager’s nose with a sickening crack. The pillager screamed and Tommy threw the assailant off him, instantly darting away.

He evaded an axe that suddenly swung for his neck, the attacker immediately readying for another strike. Notos suddenly veered for the axe-wielder, talons slashing over his eyes. He shrieked and reeled back, hands raised and swinging erratically for the winged assailant.

Tommy swung and ran. Another pillager was waiting for him, sword poised to strike. Tommy didn’t slow, immediately tucking into a roll, dodging the sword and diving past the pillager. In an instant, Tommy was on his feet once again, sprinting away as swiftly as his long legs could carry him.

Shouts of fury sounded from behind Tommy. He ignored the numerous shallow wounds he bled from, focusing his energy on escaping. His heart thundered in his chest, a storm of fear and excitement. Through the haze of adrenaline he heard Notos whistle above him, gliding along on silent wings.

_Skies bless you, you wonderful bird,_ he thought.

The pillagers were still chasing him, even more furious than before. Tommy’s searching gaze combed the forest for anything he could use. The trees were thinning the farther south he ran; there wouldn’t be enough cover in the foliage for Tommy to lose his pursuers in. His thoughts raced as fast as his legs, desperately seeking a method of escape.

Suddenly, Tommy practically stumbled over several sets of familiar tracks. Forest horse tracks.

He grinned as a seed of an idea began to sprout.

He changed his course for the direction of the tracks, sprinting with renewed vigor. The pillagers began falling behind, their shouts fading with the distance, but he doubted he could escape by outrunning them. At least, not with his own two feet.

Tommy crested a grassy hill and glanced down the slope, a smile of triumph splitting his face. There, at the foot of the knoll, a familiar herd of forest horses grazed, the animals sluggish and peaceful in the afternoon sunlight.

The lead mare raised her head as Tommy started down the slope, alerting the rest of the herd. She tossed her mane as he approached, stamping her hooves in agitation. The other horses shifted, anxious.

When Tommy had gotten close enough to the mare, he nickered, mimicking the sounds he had often heard horses greet each other with. The mare’s ears flicked toward him, the animal stilling. Tommy continued his approach, his posture loose and relaxed. He smiled gently at the mare, ignoring the other horses.

"Hey, girl. Remember me?"

The mare snorted. Glancing behind her, Tommy spotted a gangly foal with a bay coat. It was the foal he had saved the month before, when hunters had stolen it from the herd. Tommy had returned it to its mother. He wondered if the foal remembered it. The lead mare certainly did if she was letting him get this close to her herd.

Soon enough, Tommy was standing in front of the mare, whispering gentle nothings and nickering quietly. No time to waste, the pillagers would be there any minute.

He hesitantly approached the mare, and she let him, albeit under her watchful gaze. He lifted a hand, bringing it to her coal-black hide. He gently pinched the pelt on her shoulders, imitating the nibble-greetings he had seen horses perform before. The mare nickered softly. He continued bringing his hand up, pinching the pelt on her shoulders, her back. She shook out her mane before turning her neck, nibble-greeting Tommy on his back in response.

Suddenly the horses’ ears swiveled toward the hill Tommy had come from. Tommy sucked in a breath. The pillagers were coming.

Tommy’s hand drifted up to the mare’s withers, and he grasped a fistful of her mane. Breathing deeply, he steeled himself.

Then, he vaulted onto her back.

The mare immediately screamed, bucking and kicking, trying to dislodge the parasite attached to her back. Tommy clung on for dear life, arms wrapped around her muscly neck and thighs gripping her sides tightly. The other horses were crying out in distress around them.

The mare threw her head back, shrieking, but Tommy continued to stubbornly cling on. His limbs screamed at him in protest, aching with strain.

Suddenly, the sounds of distress around him grew much louder. Risking a glance up, Tommy spotted the reason. The group of pillagers were charging down the hill for him, weapons at the ready.

Shrieks and neighs filling the forest air, the horses turned and ran, galloping away with fearful huffs. The lead mare followed after them, Tommy still clinging on desperately. She tried brushing past tree trunks, galloping under low-hanging branches, but Tommy clung close to her, face pressed against her sweaty withers, eyes scrunched shut as he focused all his energy on hanging on.

At some point, the lead mare got lost to the panic of the stampede, seeming to forget the weight on her back. Cracking an eye open, he glanced back.

The pillagers had tried running after the stampeding herd, but had swiftly been left behind. Tommy watched as the final one gave up, slowing to a stop and watching the herd recede into the forest.

Tommy started laughing breathlessly with relief, arms still coiled tightly around the mare’s neck. He grinned, heedless to the branches and twigs tearing at his skin, to the throbbing pain from the cuts in his flesh. The thundering of the stampede matched the thundering of his heart.

All of a sudden, they had left the trees behind, and the herd was galloping through a wide, shallow stream. Splashes of water hit Tommy’s skin, and he relished in their coldness.

The herd exited the stream, and then they galloped across the rolling moors, their rumbling hoof-falls shaking the earth. The sun shone down on them, its gentle rays warming Tommy’s back. He raised his face to the sky, baring his teeth to the wind.

Tommy hollered his victory to the endless sky, allowing himself to be swept away by a river of the wild and free.

\-----

The horses carried Tommy far over the moors before they eventually stopped by another forest, this one less dark and damp and more bright and green. When he had slid off the mare’s back, she had immediately reared, and Tommy had barely avoided getting struck with her powerful hooves. He felt a slight pang of guilt for breaking the horse’s trust in him so thoroughly. Oh well, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

After retreating from the herd and into the woods, Tommy sat on a large rock by a gurgling creek, catching his breath. Now the adrenaline had faded, Tommy felt ready to collapse. He entertained the thought of dozing off in the late afternoon sun for a while before abandoning the idea. He had to figure out a plan.

When he felt enough energy return to his limbs to allow him to move, he began taking stock of his inventory. He checked his pack for bandages; he needed to treat his cuts before they got infected.

Too late, Tommy remembered Tubbo was in possession of their stock of bandages. He sighed, beginning his search for anything he could use as a substitute.

Tommy grinned in relief as he pulled out several strips of birch bast and a rag. He doused the rag in the cool and clear water of the creek, making sure there was no dirt in the liquid before applying the damp cloth to his wounds: a cut on his upper arm, a slash across his thigh, a gash across his collarbone. Cleaning done, he wrapped the strips of bast around the injuries, tying them neatly. All the wounds were relatively shallow, but he didn’t want to risk getting a fever by leaving them untreated.

Task complete, he continued taking stock of his items. He still had his bow and a quiver of arrows strapped to his back. His axe was still tied at his belt, along with his hunting knife. His combat knives had been lost in the fight, he hoped the pillagers hadn’t taken them.

Tommy looked into his pack once more and groaned. He had forgotten to grab any rations from the campsite. All he had was some leftover dried deer meat Tubbo had shared with him back at the cliffs. Tommy ate it, attempting to regain the rest of his energy.

As Tommy rested in the sunlight, he thought. The quickest way to return to the valley his family had camped in was to backtrack over the moors, but there was no cover there, no places to hide. The pillagers could still be in the area, and he didn’t know if they were still searching for him, or if they had reinforcements. Pillagers had a reputation for refusing to give up, after all. He didn’t want to risk being caught out in the open.

He wracked his memory for other potential routes back. Suddenly, he recalled the time towards last winter’s end. When he and his family had started traveling north from the prairies and plains in the west, they had crossed Mountain River, a huge river flowing from the west and down through the eastern mountains. Its waters had birthed many of the rivers and creeks in the northern forests. Its banks were littered with fishing villages and towns.

If Tommy could obtain a canoe he could travel downriver to the eastern mountains, looping back around to the northern forests to find his family, avoiding any chance at a pillager encounter altogether. If Tommy remembered correctly, Mountain River was a little less than half a daywalk south of where he was.

Tommy smiled. He had a plan. He could rest for the remainder of the day, gather some food and sleep away the night before traveling to Mountain River, where he could canoe his way back to the forests.

His only problem was his lack of gold to buy a canoe with. Oh well, he’d cross that hurtle when he got to it. Perhaps he could sell some game.

Tommy gathered his items and started down the creek. The bright sunlight painted the woods with golden light, the songs of passerines filling the sweet air. The vegetation was bright and lively with the arrival of spring, flowers exuding their sweet scent and berries ripening on their thorny bushes. On his way, Tommy gathered several handfuls of blackberries and hazelnuts, stowing them safely away in his pack.

He eventually found a small clearing by the creek, its floor soft with fallen leaves and ground foliage. As the sun began brightening in its descent towards the horizon, Tommy got to work. He didn’t have his sleeping sack on him, nor his tent, so he had to make do with what he was given.

What was provided by nature was, in fact, more than many people were led to believe. You just had to search for the right things.

Setting down his things, Tommy began collecting branches off the forest floor. He swiftly arranged them into the skeleton of what would be a leaf hut, the stout shelter long enough for him to comfortably lie in. Next, he set about chopping younger and greener branches off their trees with his axe. He laid them over his shelter’s skeleton, the fans of their leaves forming a slanted roof to deflect any rains that came during the night. He then collected several armfuls of dry and fallen leaves, laying them on his shelter floor to provide a comfortable bedding he could burrow into when the night came.

By the time sunset came, Tommy was sat comfortably by a small campfire. He had lost several arrows trying to shoot at a flock of quails, later catching a hare instead. Strips of hare meat roasted over the fire, enticing scent wafting over the clearing. The animal’s pelt lay strung over a low-hanging branch, drying after Tommy had washed and cleaned it. He had stored away the bones of the hare; they were useful for crafting fish hooks. Having no need for the animal’s guts or other organs, he had left them in the hollow of a tree trunk, free for any scavenger who needs them.

Tommy retrieved his flint and steel from where he had left it on the ground after lighting the flame. He went to pocket it, but paused after his fingers brushed the scratchy surface of cloth. Frowning, he pulled the item from his pocket.

He grinned. It was Wilbur’s pouch of gold, the one Tommy had stolen from him. It was plenty to buy a canoe with.

He turned his face to the sky adorned with otherworldly hues. He would be back with his family in no time.

\-----

The full moon shone down on the forest, a disk of glowing silver in the dark sky. The night was bright, moonlight illuminating the figures of three people standing by a rockface. One held a torch, flickering firelight dancing along the rocks and trees. It lighted the area in an orange glow, and the gazes of the three searched the area, weaving together a bleak and terrible story.

The entire area was splattered with blood, the grass dull with the dry liquid. Dirt and grass and fern were all kicked and uprooted around the area, the tracks in the soil showing the signs of struggle clear as day. A pair of bloodied knives lay in the dirt, abandoned.

Tubbo crouched, retrieving something from where it had been trampled into the dirt. The torchlight revealed it to be an obnoxiously red bandana, stained dark with blood. Its owner was nowhere to be found.

Wilbur fell to his knees, hand clamped over his mouth as he stared at the scene, as if staring at it would somehow reverse what had been done. He didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t. He trembled, silent tears tracking down his cheeks.

Tubbo was still, breath shaky. He wasn’t seeing the sight in front of him, wasn’t registering it. He held the bandana to his chest, right over his heart, as sobs began tearing themselves from his throat.

Tears hit the floor by Phil’s feet. He dropped the torch, the fire putting itself out on the damp ground. He spread his arms, pulling his sons into a tight hug as they sobbed, clinging to him like a lifeline. He, too, sobbed, the loss of his son an anchor in his heart, dragging him down to the bottom of the sea.

The trio cried their grief into the silence of the night, and the forest watched on, indifferent.

Nothing in the whole world knew how they felt. Nothing wanted to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy just casually surfing a stampede of wild horses was stupidly fun to write.


	3. Riverside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey back is proving to be more difficult than Tommy originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a while! Writer's block has been kicking my butt as of late. Anyways, enjoy!

The riverside town was bustling with activity, people shouting above the din, children running underfoot and the odors of tasty delicacies wafting through the air. The sun shone warmly down on the town, people working and traveling and purchasing in the light of noon. The buildings lining the streets were huddled close together, constructed of sandstone and clay, with heavily slanted roofs and colorful accessories adorning their exteriors.

Tommy weaved through the crowds in the busy street, headed for the docks. He ignored the shopkeepers promoting their wares as he fiddled with his hunting knife absentmindedly, fingering its leather hilt. His stomach was heavy and warm, filled with warm stew he had purchased upon his arrival.

After breaking camp at sunrise that day, Tommy had soon found a road leading toward Mountain River. He had followed it until he had arrived at this town, the settlement nestled snuggly on the river shore. After buying some extra rations and arrows, he had asked for directions to the docks, saving enough cash to buy a canoe and begin his journey downriver.

Tommy passed by a broker handing out news pamphlets, glancing at the gossipers standing idly on the streets and discussing the latest happenings. He was about to sweep past when a casual sentence caught his attention.

“Pillager groups have been popping up all over the northern regions. It’s like some kind of pillager scourge!” A ginger woman was talking with her companion, waving her hands in the air for emphasis.

“Does anyone know why?” Her plump friend asked, hands clasped together.

“No!” She exclaimed, unbelieving.

Tommy pursed his lips in thought, mulling over the woman’s question as he moved closer to the talking women. It wasn’t unheard off for a particular species of monster to spawn in unusually high amounts in a region, for no other reason than fate apparently deciding to fuck over all the travelers in the area. But phenomenon like that usually only occur with undead mobs, like zombies or skeletons.

He supposed it wasn’t impossible for a sudden strange increase in pillager spawning to have occurred, it would certainly explain the sudden appearances of numerous pillager outposts, as well as the group that had chased him from the forests.

If that was the case, he was glad he had taken the precaution to not travel across the exposed moors.

“Did you hear about that adventurer who took down an entire pillager outpost by himself?” One asked. Tommy was pulled from his thoughts, continuing to eavesdrop on the women’s conversation.

“Yes! His name was Technoblade, wasn’t it? How did he do it?”

Tommy smiled. Of course his brother would manage to take out an entire outpost, he was the best fighter out of all Phil’s sons. He inwardly chuckled as he thought of how fucked the pillagers that had attacked him the previous day would’ve been if Techno hadn’t been absent.

The woman’s expression soured at her companion’s question. “He’s a hybrid, you know. A piglin hybrid.”

The other woman made a noise of understanding as the ginger continued. “They’re so violent, you know, fighting really is the only thing they’re good for.”

Tommy’s expression soured along with the women’s as he clenched his fists, keeping himself from shouting out a challenge. It was bad enough hybrids were always being ostracized or used by some royal decree or another, the stigma surrounding them never failed to send rage shooting through his veins.

He tuned out the conversation and returned to his path before he lost his already pitiful self-control.

\-----

Tommy glided down the deep river, the steady to and fro of his double-sided oar a peaceful rhythm. His oar moved through the running water like a bird’s wing through air, slicing through its surface expertly, bending the current to his will.

Tommy had traveled much faster than he had originally hoped. The river was fast today, and the sweet, refreshing wind arriving from the west poured over the land. It likely wouldn’t take long at all to return to the northern forests and find his family. It was a nice scenic route.

The river bank was dotted with huge oak trees and willows nestled in the reeds, swaying in the wind. The shores became more rocky as he traveled, soft soil being replaced with boulders and small cliffs overlooking the waters, a sign of the mountainous terrain to come. Flashes of scaled fish could be spotted under the clear, blue surface, and the croaking of frogs and the like were audible from the banks. Tommy slid past two otters sunbathing on a rock, watching as they fled from him, diving into the water.

Tommy turned his gaze toward the horizon. In the distance, the mountain range in the northeast loomed, rocky peaks kissing the bright sky. Gold had begun bleeding into the sky as the sun neared the horizon behind Tommy, shining its final burst of brilliance before succumbing to the night. He should stop soon, bed down for the night. He had purchased a cheap bedroll for when he needed to sleep the night away.

Tommy continued, humming quietly to himself. He canoed downriver for a little while, feeling the steady retreat of the warm sun on his skin replaced with the cool bite of the night air.

He was about to disembark when his hairs began standing on end, and he tensed as unexpected dread pooled in his gut. Searching gaze scanning the river banks, he soon realized why.

Perched on a couple of stout cliffs overlooking the river sat the remains of what might have once been a peaceful fishing village, made of colored river clay and oak logs. Now, ruins dotted the flattened sarsens, charred and fallen logs lying among ruined walls. Abandoned belongings lay scattered on the trodden ground. Ash flew, unsettled by the wind.

There wasn’t a single living thing in sight.

Tommy swallowed nervously as the current swept him past the ruins, the waters forever uncaring. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the result of a pillager raid, but seeing something he knew would have been so full of life not too long ago razed to the ground would never cease to be unsettling.

He resolved to keep his guard up as he continued downriver. He would search for a better place to set up camp.

\-----

Today was much like yesterday, the sun warming Tommy’s face as he paddled, shoulders burning slightly from exertion. He had taken a fork in the river earlier and was now headed northward, through a valley covered in spindly birch trees and brambles. The sweet scent of ripe berries and blooming flowers reached him from the shore, and reeds whispered in the breeze.

Earlier, Tommy had taken a small break, disembarking and walking up the hill to the tip of the small valley. To his left in the north had risen the gargantuan spires of the eastern mountains that bordered the northern forests, their peaks grazing the sky. The sight directly in front of him had stolen his breath, lost to the wonder that paraded his mind.

The unexplored lands stretched as far as sight would allow, reaching beyond the horizon itself. Woodlands of towering trees dotted the land below the massive hill Tommy had found himself upon, picturesque and untouched. Plains lay over rolling hills, where wildflowers sprang from the soil. Glens and creeks cut through the land, the dips filled to the brim with golden sunlight. Try as he might, Tommy had failed to spot a town or village of any kind. Not even a traveler’s camp! Tommy was certain the land before him had gone uncharted, for he had never seen it on any map. Too far north-east, most likely. If any adventurers such as himself had left any traces, they had been lost to the whim of time and nature.

Now, as Tommy hummed a tune along with the steady movement of his oar, he recalled the many adventures he and his family had experienced while exploring uncharted lands such as the ones he had sighted just before. The anticipation of the journey, the excitement of the venture, always something new to find and discover. They were adventurers, wandering the land, forcing it to yield its secrets, playing and joking and laughing.

Wilbur had told him once that after Tommy and Tubbo had been embraced into their little family, it had felt as though the missing piece of the puzzle was finally discovered. Their wandering group had been completed. A foreign feeling had flooded Tommy’s heart at that moment, and he had felt like he could soar.

He couldn’t wait to get back. He hoped they weren’t too worried about him.

In front of him, reeds rustled from where they hugged the boulders dotting the banks, moving unnaturally. Thinking it was simply a beaver or otter, he paid the parting reeds no mind.

When a flash of silver from the greenery that was decidedly _not_ sunlight reflecting off a fish’s scales caught his eye, he paused, scanning the banks with narrowed eyes. Boulders rose up on the banks on either side of him, shading the land below them.

It took several, long moments for Tommy to make out a shape in the shadows. A humanoid figure, crouched with something long and shiny in hand.

Understanding flooded him with panic as he instantly dug his oar into the water. Too late, shouts erupted from around him, and to his side a group of pillagers showed themselves, emerging from the reeds from where they had been shrouded in greenery and the shadows of the boulders.

Tommy tried to shoot himself down the river, adrenaline already sending his heart hammering, when the twangs of fired crossbows reached his ear. Small splashes from where arrows hit the water sounded around him.

He bit his tongue in an attempt to ground himself. He had to get away.

Tommy cried out as pain exploded from his arm, sudden agony tearing its way through his limb. An arrow had embedded itself into his upper arm, streaks of crimson flowing downwards.

Biting back cries of pain, he stabbed his oar into the water and swiveled. He now faced the banks opposite from his attackers. New plan: get to shore. Fast.

He blocked out the shouts behind him as he paddled with all his might, ignoring the flaring pain in his arm. Soon enough the prow of his canoe was slicing through the reeds. They couldn’t get a good view of him here, couldn’t shoot him. He could-

His thoughts were cut off as several new foes revealed themselves, jumping from the reeds much like the pillagers on the opposite riverbank.

Tommy attempted to stand, to draw his hunting knife or his axe and do _something,_ but his efforts were futile. He was overwhelmed almost instantly, his canoe tipped into the water and his weapons taken from him. Their attacks were brutal and blunt, leaving him bruised and battered.

He was thrown from the boggy water and onto the shore, scraped and beaten, exhaustion long having replaced adrenaline. When he looked up, he saw several loaded crossbows pointed directly at his chest.

A sudden, rough hand grasped his collar and he was yanked up, stumbling on unsteady feet. He cried out as his arms were wrenched behind him, gritting his teeth helplessly as he felt rope being tied around his wrists, rough against his exposed skin.

The pillagers spoke to each other in a language Tommy didn’t understand, and they glared at the target they had successfully captured and bound. He snarled when one got a little too close with a brandished sword.

A pillager appeared beside him, a strip of cloth in hand. The pillager yanked out the arrow lodged in his arm, and Tommy smothered a yelp. He then wrapped the cloth around Tommy’s wound, tying it off painfully tightly and stifling the blood flow.

The pillager retreated, and Tommy sucked in a breath as he felt something sharp press lightly between his shoulder blades. He glanced over his shoulder. Another pillager stood behind him, dagger held threateningly over his back.

“Move,” the pillager demanded, voice laden with a thick accent.

Not having any other choice, Tommy complied.

He trudged along with the pillagers, hands bound behind him as they led him, struggling to keep his battered body moving. He wanted nothing more than to collapse, to lay on the valley floor and allow the moss and wildflowers to claim him as their own.

Tommy stared at the ground, silently berating himself. He had failed to keep his guard up, now look where he was. How the hell was he going to get out of this mess?

After what seemed like an eternity, they crested a small hill, and the sight that came into view forced Tommy to stifle a groan. Not far away stood the pillagers that had been on the other side of the river, some sitting, some standing and talking. They had likely crossed the waters in the spots upriver where the river was more shallow. Among them stood a ravager, the huge beast stamping in irritation. Combining the two groups, there was easily a dozen pillagers.

They forced him forward, and before long he was completely surrounded by the grey-skinned mobs, clad in leather and armed to the teeth.

One of the pillagers walked over to the ravager and vaulted onto its back, settling expertly in the saddle. Tommy found himself staring at the massive beast. Its dark green eyes had an otherworldly strength burning behind them, not a hint of a heart or soul in their dark depths.

Tommy grunted as he was shoved forward, stumbling without his arms to steady him. Then, two pairs of hands grasped him, and he was hauled unceremoniously onto the ravager’s back, the pillagers heedless to his weak struggles. He lay draped over the beast’s back like a carpet carried by a mule. He glanced up, immediately being met with the sight of a pair of pillagers laughing, mocking him in their own language. He glared at them.

Then, they were moving, the ravager striding forward at its rider’s command, rumbling lowly. The other pillagers walked beside the beast, keeping up pace perfectly. Tommy’s jaw clenched, his frustration battling with his exhaustion.

He took a deep, steadying breath. He needed to get out of this mess.

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and began to think.


	4. Stone-faced Effigies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy works on escaping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re just gonna ignore the fact that it has been several weeks since I last updated.  
> Also! I wrote a side-fic about this story. I don’t plan on delving too deep into Tommy’s backstory here, so I wrote it as a separate fic in case anyone wanted it! It’s about how the sleepy bois met Tommy and Tubbo. The fic is called Until My Courage Fails, check out my page to see it!

Tommy didn’t know why the pillagers hadn’t killed him yet.

During the two days they had been traveling, they hadn’t offered any explanation. They mostly spoke in their own, pillager language that consisted more of grunts and snorts than actual words, not seeming very fluent in Common.

He honestly didn’t care to find out what they wanted him for. He wouldn’t dwell on useless questions now, not when his first chance at escape was at the tip of his fingers.

The pillagers lay asleep under the stars in their bedrolls, smoldering campfires dotting the campsite. The one keeping watch was slowly dozing off, head on his chest. Tommy was the only one wide awake.

His hands were bound behind him, tied to a young birch tree. Its foliage hid him from the light of the waning moon. He glanced over at the half-awake pillager. He wasn’t paying attention, looking as though he would slip into slumber at any moment.

Tommy felt his pulse quicken as he readied himself.

Earlier that day, the pillagers had stopped to fill their flasks with the clear water of a running creek. Tommy had attempted to persuade one of them to allow him to drink from the creek. They had let him, likely because they wanted to avoid having to share their water flasks with their prisoner, at least for a while.

Tommy had crouched by the brook, dipping his newly untied hands to the water, bringing the cool liquid to his mouth in cupped hands. The pillagers had stood watchfully around him, weapons poised in show, a warning for him.

When Tommy’s hands dipped into the water once more, his fingers had brushed against the smooth surface of a piece of flint. As discretely as he could, he had maneuvered the rock up his sleeve, concealing it.

The pillagers hadn’t suspected a thing.

Now, as Tommy kept a watchful eye on the sleeping forms of his captors, he shook out his sleeve, allowing the flint to fall into his hands. It was smoothed over from the water’s flow.

As quietly as he could, Tommy began slamming the rock into the trunk of the birch tree, wincing at the blunt sound it made. The brittle rock gave way to the onslaught against the wood, the flint smashing apart to create a razor-sharp edge.

Tommy immediately got to work, pressing the edge into the ropes and beginning to saw through them. The process was painfully slow, and by the end of it his fingers were bloodied and sore from fumbling with the flint. When the final thread was cut, Tommy grimaced at the sudden pain that shot through his wrists. When he brought them up, he saw they were raw from their time in the tight confinements.

His heart pounding with anticipation, he glanced at the pillagers once more. They were all completely asleep now, unaware of their prisoner’s escape.

Tommy temporarily considered attempting to retrieve his weapons and tools before deciding against it. Tools were replaceable, and he might not get another chance at escape should he get caught once more.

If he got caught, would they even bother continuing to keep him alive?

Tommy released a low breath, standing up. Now was not the time for speculation.

He turned and melted into the trees, allowing the shadows of night to swallow him whole.

Tommy crept carefully away, constantly glancing over his shoulder. He was quiet, but he had little light to guide his steps, and every crunch of a leaf or snap of a twig caused him to flinch. Tommy prayed that the night would be kind to him. He didn’t want to have to deal with the monsters in the shadows, not now.

A minute or so seemed like an eternity. It made it all the more rewarding when the sight of the pillagers was swallowed by dripping spruce and twisted yew.

Then, Tommy was running, footfalls sure and unwavering as he ducked and twisted between fern and branch.

Tommy remembered a time when he had won a race against Wilbur and Tubbo, a simple game they had played while bored. Wilbur had complained about Tommy’s speed and agility, claiming he must have drunk a potion of swiftness. Techno had made fun of him for being a sore loser. Phil had joked that Tommy was just a bird disguised as a human, that he never stumbled because he glided across the ground on invisible wings.

Although Tommy knew his skill was born of the struggle for survival that had been bestowed upon him by his childhood, he enjoyed imagining wings on his back, an assurance he would never fall, that he was a being made to soar.

Those thoughts matched perfectly with the exhilaration he felt when he was running or climbing. When it was just him and his burning muscles and the wind in his hair.

Tommy, in his excitement at being able to run after being restrained for too long, lost himself to these thoughts. The trees passed in blurs, and he forgot to look out for the dangers of the night.

Needless to say, when he rounded a oak tree and came face-to-face with a creeper, he was more than slightly startled.

When the mottled green face entered his sight, he let out a cry, reeling back behind the trunk of the tree. His efforts failed to keep the monster from exploding, empty black eyes dead-set on Tommy the entire time it flashed white.

The detonation knocked Tommy back, and he hit the ground hard, head spinning.

He groaned, checking for any pain from potential wounds as he began pushing himself up from the ground. The attack hadn’t hurt him too bad, the worst injuries he sustained were a few bruises and singes. The tree had taken the brunt of the explosion.

The tree that was now creaking and groaning.

Tommy’s head snapped up at the sound, eyes wide. The portion of the trunk that hadn’t been blown to smithereens was filling the quiet with the sound of snapping wood, sending nearby birds flying away with cries of alarm.

The tree was tilting, its fall inevitable. And it was leaning right over Tommy.

Tommy leapt out of the way as the tree came down, slipping on the fallen foliage littering the ground. He wasn’t quick enough. He dodged the trunk but grunted as he was knocked down by a hit to his calf, slamming him into the ground. He jerked his leg out from where it had been trapped beneath a branch, grimacing when he felt pain begin to pulse from a shallow wound the wood had torn into his flesh.

He pulled himself away from the fallen tree, panting. He stood as the branches stopped swaying from impact, cursing at the hole in the ground the creeper had once stood on.

When the shock ran its course and the night around him stilled, his pulse quickened again before it could fully calm. Had the pillagers heard that? Or was he far enough away?

He ignored his injury as he scanned the trees, stare flicking to every movement of shadow, waiting with bated breath. He strained to hear any boots crunching on the forest floor, of heavy breathing or the chink of armor, though he could barely hear anything above the hammering of his heart.

He sighed when nothing revealed himself, the tightly coiled fear in his chest relaxing. He was far enough away, they couldn’t hear him.

With one challenge conquered led to the question of how he would accomplish the next. Surviving the night.

He turned to the south and spotted the moon at its peak in the starry sky. The only sound blessing the quiet night was the distant song of a lonely nightingale.

Tommy walked away from the site of the attack, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. He had no weapons; they were still in one of the pillagers’ packs. The night was fairly dark, it was unlikely he could get by without coming across any monsters. He could outrun a zombie, but it was much harder to dodge a skeleton’s arrow, or out-maneuver a spider. Hell, even another creeper could probably manage to sneak up on him if he wasn’t careful.

Staying put until sunrise was also out of the question. If the pillagers awoke, they could track him. He needed to get as far away as possible.

He swore under his breath. He did not think this through. Was this what Techno meant when he said Tommy never thought far enough ahead?

It definitely was. Techno would absolutely be laughing mockingly at his reckless plan if he were here.

His distracted strolling soon brought him to the bank of a creek, moonlight reflecting off its flowing waters. Boulders littered the ground around it, stacked atop each other. Tommy began climbing the rocks, navigating the precarious places with ease. The shallow wound in his calf throbbed uncomfortably, but he chose to ignore it. It wasn’t his biggest concern right now.

His eventual spot atop the tallest boulder yielded the wide view of a downwards slope. The woods dispersed into plains of long grass not far away, a winding river slicing through the earth. He was fairly certain the pillagers had traveled through this area. He was backtracking, good to know.

He examined the land with a searching gaze, looking for anything he could use. He kept listening intently for potential danger, but the only sounds to hear were the trickling of the creek beside him and the chirrup of insects in the bracken.

Suddenly, the quiet hoot of an eagle-owl caught Tommy’s attention. He turned his face heavenwards, and the dark shape of the nocturnal bird glided far above him, blotting out the stars. He tracked its flight, watching it as it soared over the woods in search of prey.

It flew into the woods on his left, disappearing in the darkness. He was about to turn away when something in the distance, a small glow. Squinting, he spotted a distant dot of torchlight peeking from the dips of grassy hills. He stared, and he began to make out more spots of light, along with the dark shapes of what looked like houses, almost hidden by a hill.

Tommy grinned. A village. And it wasn’t too far away, either. After he left the woods, the long grass of the plains would provide enough cover to hide from mobs until he could take refuge.

Tommy swiftly leaped down from the tall boulders, an assured bounce to his gait. He walked over to the nearby creek; he may as well get a drink before making the trek to the village.

He crouched by the running water. In its surface, he saw his reflection staring back at him, illuminated by the moonlight that reflected off the water. His face was scratched up and dirty, his blond hair shaggy and tangled. A few small braids had remained in his messy hair, ones Techno had given him, adorned with blood-red beads.

Tommy splashed his face with the cool water before filling his cupped hands with the liquid, bringing it to his mouth to drink until he’d had his fill. The trickle of the brook was loud in comparison to the silent night.

Tommy stilled. He could hear nothing but the soft gurgling of the waters and the whisper of a breeze through the trees. No insects chirping, no lonely nightingale song. As if the forest was holding its breath.

Tommy’s heartbeat became unbearably loud as the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end.

He swung around and was instantly struck.

The hit to his ribs sent him careening backwards, landing hard in the shallow water with a gasp. Before he could react, his attacker’s silhouette stood above him, framed by starlight.

He rolled to the side as his foe’s weapon came down where he had been a second before. He attempted to stand, but the ground under him was pebbled and wet from the flow of the water, and he stumbled.

He cried out as pain exploded from the side of his head, his attacker striking him with the flat of their blade. He crashed into the water before he could steady himself, jarring his shoulder on the rocky creek bed.

He couldn’t move quick enough, and suddenly something blunt was digging painfully into his gut. He tried to twist away, desperation and adrenaline fueling him, but his efforts proved fruitless when a gloved hand grasped the back of his head, and he was shoved underwater.

The water was shallow, it wouldn’t have reached much higher than his ankle had he been standing, but the grip holding him underneath the water was strong and ceaseless, and Tommy couldn’t pull himself up.

He grew desperate as his lungs began screaming for air, clawing at the loose rocks but finding no purchase. He kicked and struggled, his shouts leaving his mouth in pathetic bubbles. His foe was undeterred, only pushing his head harder against the stones at the bottom of the creek.

Tommy’s struggles only grew weaker as his vision began to tunnel.

Suddenly, the weight on the back of his head disappeared, and Tommy jerked up, gasping for air. He immediately began coughing painfully, attempting to dislodge the water that had trickled into his lungs.

Still lying in the water, he glanced up. Two figures stood above him, and it looked like they were arguing with one another. Their ashy skin was illuminated by starlight.

The pillagers had found him.

One of them pointed toward where he lay in the creek, still breathing heavily. Tommy didn’t move. Why wasn’t he moving? He needed to run!

Then the pillager was forcing him up, jerking his arms behind him when he struggled weakly. The other was leering before him, standing menacingly with a dagger in hand. He sneered at Tommy.

In a grating voice, the pillager said, “Do not run again.”

Tommy spat in his face.

\-----

The ruins before him were nothing like Tommy had ever seen before.

The buildings were made of stone brick and oak planks, with box-like structures and fancy rims. Some were ruined, some still intact, but even from his distance Tommy could see the extravagant carvings on their walls. Dotted chaotically around the buildings, several tall and thin statues of stone rose above the roofs, the effigies depicting no mythological or historical figure Tommy knew of. The sun was a topaz inferno on the distant horizon as it sank, casting long shadows over the hilly plains and painting the collection of structures in golden light.

The sight gave Tommy a bad feeling, but he could do nothing as he was forced towards it.

The pillagers had left behind the ravager and a good amount of their party at some point earlier, and they were now dragging Tommy along, iron grips leaving bruises on his bound arms.

As they got closer, Tommy could make out more pillagers around the buildings, as well as some humans. Or at least, humanoids passing for human. Studying the builds, he discovered their architecture was akin to some illustrations in a book Techno had once shown him, a book depicting the mythical gates to the End. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to know the implications of this new information.

His eyes scanned the landscape in search of an escape route.

It was far too soon when they crossed the plains, coming to a stop outside the strange structures. The rest of the pillagers continued into the buildings, leaving the two beside Tommy. As soon as they left, a hooded woman emerged from the ruined stones, strolling towards them. Tommy shifted where he stood, eyeing her uneasily.

The stranger ignored him, turning to his captors and speaking with a commanding, expectant voice. Tommy couldn’t understand them, but their tones were enough to make his heart sink with dread.

Tommy cast his gaze about once more. The grips on his arms were loosening carelessly, and he had only three foes to face. If ever there was a time to conjure a last-second escape plan, now was it.

A gleam caught his eye. As inconspicuously as he could, he glanced toward it. His heart leapt.

Partially hidden by a ruined stone wall, a rectangular frame of obsidian stood, tall and immovable. Its inner space was filled with a swirling, indigo gas that gleamed and sparkled in the bright light of the setting sun.

Tommy didn’t know much about the Nether, but he was willing to bet whatever lay beyond the portal would be kinder to him than the heartless creatures he was currently in the hands of.

The stranger in front of him said something final to his captors, a dismissive hand waving in the air.

Now or never.

Tommy struck, twisting in the pillagers’ grip and lashing out a kick. He hit the woman square in the chest, sending her flailing and landing hard on her ass.

Taking advantage of the pillagers’ surprise at the sheer recklessness and abruptness of his attack, he jerked away from their grasp. Before they could recover, he was sprinting, arms still tied behind him, dead-set on the portal that stood several stone-throws away.

He had learnt some time ago that when there’s no other option, doing something that should get you killed usually resulted in your foes becoming too surprised to actually kill you. The stronger, bigger enemies he had encountered in his life expected to be handling a boy too snarky and careless for his own good, not a suicidal madman.

He heard them thundering after him, yelling for reinforcements. But even bound and sore, Tommy was quicker than them, and soon he was on the obsidian ledge. Almost immediately, the violet gas began snaking its spiraling tendrils around his body, his skin already fading into the portal.

Glancing up, he saw a pillager swiftly load a crossbow, bringing it up to point at his head.

They pulled the trigger.

But Tommy was already gone, swallowed whole by hot mists of indigo, carrying him to unknown lands.


	5. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The loss of a brother hurts worse than the deepest of wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today. Also, I have no idea how to write grieving ajbfvh

Night had fallen heavily across the forest, bringing a phantom quiet with it. The wind swirled in wheezing gasps, and Wilbur drew his scarf over his face.

Wilbur sat with his back to a felled tree, gaze raised towards the heavens. He sat stiffly on the damp grass, the mostly-healed wound at his side aching dully. The small cliff he was on overlooked an evergreen glen, covered with willow and oak trees and a small river cutting through its base. The chirrups of twilight insects and small, burrowing animals were still present, but they were ominously quiet, sounding almost mournful.

Above him, Notos glided silently across the sky, the silhouette of his owl dark against the grey clouds. Notos had eaten his fill earlier, having consumed several small mammals he had preyed upon at dusk, but he had yet to settle down, instead still flying across the night sky restlessly.

The owl had been agitated all week, ever since they had last seen Tommy. Wilbur couldn’t blame him, he hadn’t exactly been happy either.

A rustling from the bushes appeared behind him, and he twisted around, hand hovering over the hilt of his dagger.

The figure emerging from the bracken was Tubbo, his arms wrapped tightly around his small frame. He was illuminated by the lantern propped on a rock next to Wilbur. The look on his face crushed a heavy weight against Wilbur’s chest.

Wilbur relaxed, offering a weak smile and a quiet greeting to the young boy. Tubbo nodded, moving to settle himself next to Wilbur.

Wilbur studied him. His soft face was etched with hard lines of grief and sorrow. Tear tracks traced down his cheeks, and he hunched in on himself tiredly.

Wilbur probably looked a similar way. He had gone to the cliff so he wouldn’t disturb his family with his grieving. His throat still ached from the regret he had screamed into the quiet of the night.

After a long few moments, Tubbo simply stated, “I miss him.”

Wilbur cast his gaze away.

They had been hopeful, it was hard not to be. After the initial shock of finding that blood-stained scene, they had searched the surrounding area. They didn’t know what they were searching for. Tracks, perhaps. Maybe even a body.

They had found the pillagers’ tracks, following them until they stopped at the kicked-up soil of a horse stampede. They had found no sign of Tommy other than the red bandana and his abandoned knives. There had been no body.

They had reasoned together: what if Tommy escaped? He’s resilient, perhaps he had survived the half a dozen pillagers attacking him, armored with iron and armed to the teeth while he had only his hatchet and knives.

It wasn’t reasoning. It had been denial.

It had been a week and Tommy still hadn’t returned. They hadn’t strayed far from their last campsite, and they hadn’t seen the pillagers again. But they had seen no sight of the boy they had known to be so clever and quick.

“I miss him too,” Wilbur murmured.

He extended an arm and wrapped it around Tubbo, pulling him in. Tubbo latched on, hugging Wilbur fiercely. He felt Tubbo begin to cry quietly, too exhausted to sob.

Wilbur felt Tubbo’s heart beating as he pressed into the elder’s side. His own heart beat rhythmically, steady as a drum, right next to the boy who had come to be his younger brother.

A third heartbeat was missing.

The pain was worse than the loss of a limb. Tommy was part of their lives, the spirit of their group. He couldn’t be gone.

And yet, they hadn’t heard is obnoxiously loud laughter, or witnessed his rambunctious antics, or laughed at him as they teased him because he _wasn’t there._

Wilbur’s heart was heavier than the sky as he remembered, as he yearned, as he regreted. But life did not spare for those who loved, and all it provided him with was a sea of dark to swallow him whole.


	6. Blazing Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy finds himself in unfamiliar territory, and gains a potential ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kind comments! They genuinely make my day, y’all are so nice :DD

Tommy didn’t like caves.

He despised them, really. He hated the cold stone walls that would rise around him on every side, casting the darkest of shadows. He hated the prospect of rounding a corner and being caught unawares by a monster. Their yawning mouths looked like waiting jaws, and they sent shivers down his spine.

Sometimes, his family would set up camp in a cave; they made quick and easy shelter from the elements. Tommy, however, would always end up sleeping outside, the stars winking down at him as he slumbered beside his own little fire, or under his own shelter when it stormed. Although he tried, could never rest easy when cold stone surrounded him, blocking out the sky and distancing him from the sounds of the wilderness.

Tommy had been to the Nether once before, and his opinion of it hadn’t changed since. The second he stumbled out of the portal, he was already wincing at the heat of the ground rising through his boots. The hot air instantly smothered him with the fug of a dozen draped blankets. Ash and soot floated in the air and clung to his sweaty skin. The thin smoke hanging in the air seemed to seep under his skin, the discomfort of it making his breath hitch.

Tommy glanced around, and had his adrenaline not been rushing as fast as it was, he would have groaned as he remembered exactly how the Nether was structured: A huge, never-ending, lava-filled cave.

He whirled around, scanning the area he was in. Spires of basalt towered across his vision and over his head, rows upon uneven rows of jagged teeth waiting to crush him. To his left, the columns of basalt gave way to a wasteland of barren netherrack, decorated only by patches of gold and quartz, and broken up by sudden, soaring cliffs and deep chasms. In front of him, behind several paces of basalt and lava pools, the land dropped into a cliff, yielding before a gargantuan lake of bubbling lava, sparks birthed by the magma flying all the way up to the basalt delta in the hot breezes.

He stood frozen, the moaning portal at his back as he took in the devilish landscape.

A short moment later, he remembered why exactly he was here. He needed to get a move on.

A flimsy, short and slightly ruined stone wall lay cracked around the portal, and stone containers were pushed up against it. The surrounding ground was littered with coils of rope, various rucksacks and the occasional tool.

He tugged at the rope that bound his wrists behind him. He needed to find something to cut them.

His gaze soon settled on a discarded arrowhead on the ground, and he kneeled down by it, retrieving it with some difficulty. It was blissfully sharp, and though it cut his fingers and made his palms sting, it wasn’t long before the tight ropes fell away from his wrists.

He brought up his wrists, massaging them as they throbbed painfully from their time in confinements. He glanced at the portal. No pillagers had come through yet. Perhaps they had decided traversing the Nether to retrieve their captive would be too risky. Or they were gathering reinforcements.

Tommy prayed it was the former.

Tommy swiftly tore open the stone container closest to him, reaching inside. He retrieved two water flasks, both full, and attached them to his belt. He picked up a coil of rope, soon deciding to leave it. It would be too bothersome to carry.

He began to debate whether it was worth trying to loot more containers when the pillagers could follow at any moment when the portal at his back started to whir forebodingly. He twisted around, and his heart dropped when he saw the indigo mist of the portal begin to shape into the molds of several humanoids.

Tommy bolted, vaulting himself over the waist-high wall and almost immediately stumbling on the uneven basalt, the terrain unfamiliar to his usually graceful feet. Gritting his teeth, he took off at a sprint for the netherrack wastes. The basalt delta held more hiding places, but one misplaced step could land him losing his leg to a surprise lava pool.

He had barely gotten a few paces when he heard shouts and commands materialize behind him, and he ran with renewed vigor, weaving between the spires. He could feel their pounding boots rocking the ground. There were far more than the two he had previously escaped from.

A shout sounded behind him, uncomfortably close, and Tommy risked a glance over his shoulder.

Wrong move.

His foot caught and Tommy fell, hissing as his knees dug into the hot rock and feeling a burning heat under his palms. The cuts on his hands stung. His blood roared in his ears as he pushed himself up, but the damage was done, he could practically feel his pursuers breathing down his neck now, blades inches away from him.

He leaped over a stream of lava, and suddenly he was running along netherrack, and he cast his gaze about for some boulders to hide in, a cave to lose them in, _something._

Lost in racing thoughts of escape, Tommy failed to notice the sudden red cliff towering in front of him until too late. He sucked in a breath at the sight before glancing to his sides, trying to see where he could run. But the pillagers were more coordinated than he was, and they had fanned out to either of his sides, blocking his exits.

He could do nothing but let out a string of muttered curses as they herded him to the rockface. Before long, his back was against the rock as they advanced on him steadily, like hyenas slobbering excitedly over cornered prey.

His gaze darted about, drinking in every detail of the land greedily as he searched for an escape. Raging gazes bore into his being, axes and swords brandished threateningly. Tommy didn’t bother to count how many there were.

Taking a shuddering breath, Tommy opened his mouth to call out for them to stop. Perhaps he could convince them he would be of no use to them, and they could just let him go. It might at least by him some time.

However, before he could make a sound, a sudden screech filled the air, loud and piercing.

Tommy sucked in a breath as his head jerked toward the source of the dreadful sound, eyes blown wide in alarm. He vaguely registered his attackers following suit.

Several dozen strides away, the massive lava lake from before still bubbled at the bottom of the netherrack cliffs. And above it, floating menacingly in the ashy air, a monster Tommy had only heard stories of glared angrily at the group, a fiery glow emanating from its wide eyes. Its skin was the color of white ash, and streaks of grey tore across its huge body. Writhing tentacles flicked out from under it, caressing the hot air, and slits that looked somewhat like fish gills opened and closed at its sides.

_Ghast,_ Tommy’s memory supplied the beast’s name.

The thing shrieked once more, the inside of its mouth like hellfire.

Tommy’s breath left him as he realized that was because the ghast’s mouth was filled with flames.

He threw himself against the wall as the flames left the monster’s mouth in a massive fireball, his back to the screaming pillagers as they leapt away from the attack.

Tommy cried out as burning remnants of the fireball reached him, searing through his clothes and scorching his back. He ground his teeth together, attempting to ignore the pain as he turned back around.

There was a dent in the rock alight with flames where the pillagers had been, and through the smoke Tommy saw his pursuers retreating, sprinting into the forest of grey spires as they tried to avoid the ghast.

Tommy glanced back to the ghast, legs poised to run. The monster wasn’t focused on him, however. Its angry stare continued to chase the pillagers as they raced over the delta, and the ghostly being floated higher.

It screamed again, and a second fireball was launched. It crashed into the basalt spires, knocking the fangs of rock from their bases, sending them collapsing. Tommy heard a scream from a pillager as his body was lost to one of the many crashing columns. Tommy wondered if every one of them had completely forgotten about the crossbows at their backs and hips, or if they just didn’t want to risk stopping to shoot the monster.

The pillagers were at the portal now, leaping inside and pushing each other for space as the purple portal began swallowing their forms whole.

Another scream, and another fireball was released. The final pillager disappeared into the portal as the fire hurtled towards it. It crashed into the portal, bright and booming.

The indigo vapor of the portal shattered like glass, leaving only its obsidian frame.

Tommy watched the entire scene frozen, unmoving as he stood by the red cliff. His stare snapped back to the ghast as it turned towards him, its mouth already lighting with another fireball.

Tommy ran, sprinting away from the basalt delta as he scanned the wasteland for shelter. A fireball exploded the ground behind him, easily missing him.

The cliff to his left fell away to reveal a large plain of netherrack, dotted with boulders and rolling with hills and glens.

Tommy darted to a nearby pile of boulders. He remembered hearing the aggression of a ghast only lasted as long as they could see their targets. The second they were out of sight, ghasts would forget about their previous attacks and continue on with their days.

He prayed this was true as he dived behind a pile of boulders, heart hammering painfully against his chest. He waited, barely breathing as he listened for the ghast’s enraged screech.

To his relief, it never came.

He waited with bated breath as he listened to the ghast’s moans and whines grow steadily farther away. Risking a peek around the boulders, he was met with the distant form of the ghast with his back to him, almost unseeable in the smog blanketing the cursed biome he had found himself in.

Tommy bit his lip as he thought. If he made a break for it, the ghast could still turn around and spot him.

He glanced around the wasteland, searching for anything of use. His gaze settled on two cliffs, separating to form a large canyon on the other side of the plain, its base at the ground level of the floor Tommy stood upon.

The next few, long minutes consisted of Tommy darting between piles of boulders and flattening himself against the dips of hills, eyes on the floating monster that had yet to fly out of sight. It wasn’t too long before Tommy was at the foot of the canyon, swerving around the corner as the cliff shielded him from sight.

Just before he continued, he glanced up at the unaware ghast.

“You really are a beautiful creature,” he pondered.

The ghast continued floating peacefully in the air.

\-----

The first and last time Tommy had been to the Nether, he had been accompanying Phil and Techno. They had gone to a piglin camp to barter with its residents, for items that were either only found in the Nether or too difficult to collect themselves.

Tommy, ever the curious one, had practically begged to see the Nether. He had only heard stories about it, and his heart that was so full of wanderlust had soared at the prospect of a whole new realm to explore.

He was dismayed when he arrived. The land he had found himself in was not that of his imagination. Rather, the Nether reminded him of the insides of a beast, its crimson rock like flesh and oozing magma like fiery blood. Insane formations that should have fallen away and crumbled under gravity were abundant and sturdy, twisting into otherworldly shapes. The air was stinging and smothering, an enemy not even he could fight.

He had understood then why the Nether was described as uninhabitable, a place only the hardiest adventurers dared to go. The Nether itself was a monster, awaiting patiently for the unwary, forever ready to swallow them whole.

However, it was also Techno’s homeland, and his brother had taught him much about how the devil of a realm provided.

_Though it may not look like it, the Nether is akin to the Overworld in many ways,_ the piglin hybrid had said. _It lives, it dies, it provides. The forests bear fungi and roots for medicine and nourishment. Piglins hunt the hoglins, they feast on the meat and use their hides for garments. The fortresses of nether brick are harbingers of blazes, some of the most magical beings you will ever see. The ghasts are the guardians of the Nether; they were made to protect it from the people of the Overworld that tried to strip the land of its gold and flora._

Techno had eventually stopped trying to teach Tommy, the younger’s newborn hatred of the new environment obvious. But Tommy had listened. He always listened, though he rarely showed it.

Now, far away from the portal he had entered in, Tommy looked out over the crazy land of impenetrable smog and soaring cliffs, of islands that floated over lakes of lava and streams of magma falling from the roof. He glanced up, far up to the unreachable ceiling, and had the sinking feeling that a whole realm was yearning to swallow him whole.

But he had remembered Techno’s words, and resolve had strengthened his will. The forests and mountains and rivers of the Overworld had aided him in his times of need, there was no reason he couldn’t convince the Nether to help him too.

Soon, Tommy found himself traversing the hills and scaling cliffs to the highest spot he could see. He had already fallen into a familiar pattern, the one he enacted whenever he ended up lost and alone. Take stock of your surroundings. Then, find food. After that, find a way back.

As he traveled, he kept an eye out for any indication of a nearby portal. Perhaps he could find a trail leading to one, the path trodden by regular usage. Maybe a marker, like a stone or arrow pointing towards one.

He almost fell off a cliff when he came face-to-face with a zombie piglin.

He yelped, leaping back in surprise. The monster’s skin hung in folds, and rotting flesh painted with red blood, green rot and yellow pus covered its protruding bones, hanging out of the gaps of its pitiful amount of skin. Its soulless eyes bore into him.

Tommy collected himself, breathing deeply. The thing turned away, as if it couldn’t care less spawn of the Overworld traveled its land. Behind it, Tommy could see more of its kind, a whole… pack? Herd?

Tommy shook his head as he continued. They weren’t like the zombies he had fought so often; they wouldn’t attack unless provoked.

He pulled himself up a final rockface, arms burning. Then, his mouth was hanging open as he took in the sight before him, and he didn’t know if it was from wonder or dread.

A long lava lake that looked more like a wide river tore through the cliffs of netherrack and into the distant red haze. The smog was laying low on the lava, and Tommy could see the wasteland cliffs for some distance.

At the farthest reaches of his vision, Tommy spotted what he was looking for. Rugged trunks shot up from a ground covered in sharp red ferns. Branches adorned with scarlet leaves twisted through the red fog, rising through the haze like blood-stained fingers. Its surface was frosted with ash and embers.

He grinned. A forest would be his best chance of obtaining supplies.

His searching gaze swept the landscape, darting over natural bridges, rivers of magma and craggy cliffs. Scanning the possible paths, he estimated the path to the crimson forest would take around half a day to complete.

He better get started.

Tommy began his trek through the netherrack wastes, still keeping an eye open for portal markers, as well as possible food sources. Every once in a while, he would hear the moaning of a ghast, and would hide behind rocks or hills until it moved on. Occasionally, he would make detours to avoid large groups of zombie piglins. He knew they likely wouldn’t attack him, but they made him uneasy, with their dark and empty gazes. Once, he had seen an enderman nearby, and he had barely remembered not to make eye contact in time to cast his gaze to the floor as the inky monster turned to him.

Always, he kept an eye out for piglin hunting parties. Although, he had seen no sign of nearby piglin camps, so he hoped he wouldn’t come across any. He had no gold on him.

The journey was grueling. He felt the hot air weighing him down, thin smoke wreathing his limbs and forcing him to constantly brush off the embers that snowed onto his skin. He was dismayed at the amount of water from the flasks he had drunk in such a short amount of time, despite his best efforts to ration it.

He was shocked but not surprised when he crested a hill and halted, his gaze falling upon a skeleton leaning against a pile of boulders studded with gold ore. Not a hostile, undead skeleton with a bow of rotting wood, but the remains of a humanoid, covered with an almost rusty sheen from its time in the strange atmosphere.

Swallowing his trepidation, he approached the corpse. Tattered clothes hung from the bones, flapping faintly in the breeze (where the fuck did a breeze come from in the Nether?).

Scrunching his nose, Tommy knelt by it, brushing off the cloth pooled around its lap. A utility belt of leather was draped over the bones, holding several items.

_I am looting a corpse,_ Tommy thought, somewhat incredulously, curling his lips in disgust as his slender fingers brushed a clump of burnt flesh. _Skies, I hope this poor thing doesn’t have a ghost._

Ghosts were a rarity. It was said they only appeared when they had unfinished business, like a loved one in need of protecting. They were rare enough that Tommy had never seen one in his life. Still, he prayed the poor soul had moved peacefully on and wouldn’t come and scare the shit out of him or whatever the hell ghosts do.

He shook himself from his thoughts and reached for the items in the belt. From one side hung an iron pickaxe, dull iron barely reflecting the firelight of the Nether.

He took the pickaxe from its place. The weakened hilt immediately broke in two in his grasp.

He sighed and moved on, discarding the broken tool. The next object he picked up was a sheathed machete. He drew it from its scabbard, and nearby firelight danced in its iron blade. The leather hilt sat perfectly in his grip.

He sheathed it once more, attaching it to his own belt.

A rucksack lay beside the skeleton. In it, he found a clay bowl and a flint and steel. He took that too.

He found nothing more around the carcass, and he left with no small amount of relief.

He wasn’t going to let this hellish land claim his life like it had so many others.

\-----

This forest wasn’t anything like the forests of the Overworld, Tommy discovered.

Of course, the vegetation was covered with plants that looked as though they were painted with blood, and the grass was not grass but a scarlet, moss-like plant that blanketed the netherrack, but he had at least expected the towering plants to be _trees._

But no, this land played by no rules of spawn of the Overworld, and the towering trees were actually giant fungi sprouting from the ground, and what he had thought were leaves were sprouting spores of red warts.

Already, he could see smaller mushrooms and roots of crimson, and he noted all the things he knew were edible, thanks to Techno.

A series of warbles and chirps sounded, not far away, and Tommy glanced toward the noises. In an inlet of lava, leading to the lake of magma, a herd of striders were gathering.

Tommy watched from his spot a little farther down the shore of the lava lake. The strange animals left the crimson forest and stepped into the lava, their purple bodies flushing red as they balanced on the magma’s surface with their large, webbed feet.

His gaze tracked them as they moved together, ambling over the lava and away from shore, trekking through the smog and haze.

He recalled Techno telling him about striders. The two-legged beasts almost exclusively ate a mushroom called warped fungi, which is why they were usually seen by the forests in which the fungi grows. When they exhaust the forest of the fungus, they travel across the lava lakes in their herds, searching for a new forest to graze in.

He watched in interest as the herd waddled effortlessly over the lava until they disappeared from his sight.

Tommy moved on, striding up the hill and away from the shore. He crested the knoll, and then he was looking over a low valley covered in large and small red fungi, broken up by low cliffs and small chasms.

To his left, down a thickly forested flank of the valley, tracks tore through the underbrush. The footprints were those of cloven hooves, but what freaked Tommy out was that they were at least twice as big as his hand.

Keeping an eye out for monsters, he started the trek down the valley, prepared to draw his machete at a moment’s notice. He harvested mushrooms and roots along the way, stuffing them in his rucksack. He was certain he could make something edible out of them. Every land, no matter how hellish, always provided a way to survive, but only for those who cared to look.

Only when he reached the bottom of the valley did he consider stopping. He had walked all day, climbing and scrambling over unfamiliar terrain. Before that, he had barely gotten any rest, traveling amongst his captors and unwilling to let his guard down. The strain of the journey had finally started to catch up to him, and he felt the ache of it down to his bones. He doubted his body could carry him much farther.

Tommy found a small clearing and sat, a sigh of relief falling from his chapped lips. Soon, his sitting turned to leaning back, and before long he was lying with his back to the scarlet moss-like plants, staring up at the distant roof of the Nether.

He didn’t know how long he laid there for, exhaustion slowly draining from his limbs as he lay still as a corpse. The crimson moss was surprisingly cool, at least in comparison to the rest of the Nether, and

Tommy felt his thoughts slow as he dozed. He felt the pull of sleep wrapping its tantalizing arms around him, weighting his eyelids and slowing his heart.

But he couldn’t sleep. He had things to do.

He groaned as he sat up, reaching for his rucksack. He began to examine the roots and mushrooms he had harvested. Around him, the forest rasped and wheezed with hot winds, rather than the gentle whispers of evergreen leaves Tommy was so accustomed to.

Suddenly, behind Tommy, another sound joined the strange groaning of the fungi forest. A sudden, agitated snort, deep and rumbling.

Tommy’s heart leapt into his throat. He whirled around, machete in his hands in moments.

The source of the angry noise stomped out of the bracken, and Tommy realized he was going to need a lot more than a machete to remain unharmed.

The hoglin roared, a guttural, beastly sound. The glows of flying embers shone on its yellow tusks, and soulless black eyes flared, glaring straight at Tommy. He inhaled sharply.

The monstrous beast charged.

Tommy dived away, sweeping his rucksack into his grasp and bolting into the forest. No way in hell he was going to fight that thing with only a machete. Tommy was no coward, but he was also no idiot.

Thundering hooves sent tremors through the ground, the hoglin growling as it galloped after him. Tommy’s thoughts became hazed as adrenaline flooded his limbs, sudden and crashing. The hoglin tore through the giant fungi behind him, surprisingly swift for such a giant, lumbering beast.

His breath hitched as he tried to think through the haze of panic, desperate to find an escape route.

Tommy weaved through the fungi forest, lithe and nimble as a sewing needle, all too aware of the hot breath breathing down his back. Flashes of yellow tusks danced across his vision as he glanced over his shoulder, and the thought of them bloodied and red spurred him to sprint faster.

His calves ached, and pain stabbed at his sides, still tired from his journey. Even still, he could hear the snorting and roars falling farther behind him, struggling to keep up. He grinned.

The hoglin was quick, but Tommy was quicker.

Suddenly, he halted, a low cliff stretching across his vision. It stretched too far on either side for Tommy to sprint around it. The wall was about three times Tommy’s height.

He threw himself up the cliff, practiced feet easily finding footholds as he stretched his arms higher, groping for leverage. His adrenaline far overpowered the aching in his palms and legs, and he forced himself into the familiar pattern of reaching, grabbing and pulling.

What he had forgotten was the difference in stones. In the Overworld, he climbed cliffs of strong grey stone, and buildings of sound structure.

Netherrack was far weaker.

Tommy’s grip found the cliff’s edge, and triumph burned in his veins. He lifted his other hand, ready to pull himself up.

His grip fell away, the handholds of netherrack falling away beneath his weight.

He yelped when he hit the ground, landing hard on his shoulder, jarring it. He scrambled up, quickly throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the crimson forest. How much time did he have?

Not enough.

The hoglin barreled out of the fungi with the grace of a bull in a china store. Its soulless eyes found Tommy’s panting form, and its nostrils flared in rage.

Tommy was on his feet in a second, blade in hand. Defiance kept his legs from buckling under him, the grip on his machete whitening his knuckles as he readied himself.

He fell into a fighting stance as the hoglin started towards him.

Suddenly, a new sound reached Tommy. A shout.

He glanced up.

From the sky, a figure came crashing down, leaping from the cliff edge and landing on the ground in a roll. The figure crouched in front of Tommy, staring down the hoglin. Tommy felt his stance slacken, his mouth agape at the sudden appearance.

The stranger wore a short white tunic with a black undershirt, with dark pants and worn leather shoes. His hair was dark, and a white headband tied neatly around his head flapped in the breeze. Tommy stared, hoglin momentarily forgotten.

The newcomer held a sword made of blazing orange flames.

The fiery weapon cast a glow upon the monster, and it snorted in agitation. The newcomer wasted no time, instantly launching himself forward. The hoglin, looking as surprised as Tommy felt, reared its ugly head back as the black-and-white warrior ducked under it, his blazing sword slashing a horizon of blood across the creature’s chest. The hoglin roared, and the stranger leapt up once more, preparing for another attack.

Tommy collected himself, steadying his breath as he readied himself to continue fighting. He studied the newcomer curiously, tracking his movements as he danced away from yellow tusks. The stranger wasn’t graceful, nor was he swift, yet he dodged every attack. Every time the hoglin was about to strike him, he brought up his blade of fire, swinging it in wide arcs, licking flames and hot sparks trailing in the air. And every time the hoglin hesitated, rearing back at the sudden swathe of flames across its vision, allowing the stranger enough time to retreat and plan his next attack.

The stranger was slowly wearing the creature down, deep gashes of blood pocking the hoglin’s thick hide, burning the flesh with embers.

Tommy didn’t realize how mesmerized he was at the sight of the dance of death until the stranger cried out in pain, clutching a hand to his bicep. Blood trickled from his fingers, crimson streams flowing over tanned skin. The tip of the hoglin’s tusk was red.

Tommy leapt forward without a second thought, his blade darting out to swipe at the monster’s side. It snarled at him, whirling its tusks around. He dodged the hoglin’s attack easily.

Tommy’s attack barely did anything, a red scratch in the ridiculously thick hide all he had to prove he even hit the thing at all.

The creature’s attention was divided, now the stranger was attacking it with his blazing sword and Tommy assisted, dodging and weaving around it, distracting more than hurting. But Tommy doubted they could kill the monster with only their blades without sustaining more injuries, a mistake infinitely more dangerous to make in the harsh lands of the Nether.

He sifted through his racing thoughts like the pages of a book, mental hands desperate to grasp an idea. He glanced at the forest, and an idea sprouted suddenly as his gaze fell upon the vines snaking along the ground.

He darted over to the ground under the large fungi as the hoglin continued fighting the stranger. He grasped a vine and ripped it from the moss-like fungi blanketing the ground, keeping the battle in the corner of his eye. He ran to another huge fungus-tree-thing, stretching the vine to its full length. He crouched behind the thick stem, laying the red vine along the crimson ground.

“Hey!” He called to the stranger.

The stranger glanced to him, eyes the color of cold ash setting their gaze on him. Tommy gestured to the vine running along the ground, praying the stranger would get the message.

The stranger’s ashy eyes widened with understanding, a grin curling on his face. He dodged the hoglin’s tusks once more and bolted, loping for the gap between Tommy’s huge fungus and the one his red vine grew from.

Tommy held his breath as the enraged hoglin charged after the stranger, headed unaware for the trap.

The stranger ran over the slack vine. As soon as he crossed, Tommy looped the vine around the sturdy stem before digging his heels into the ground, pulling with all his might.

The taut vine was nearly ripped from his grasp as the hoglin hit the vine, knees catching on the plant before it was sent careening into the rocky ground. Tommy fell back with a grunt. The hoglin, caught off guard and unable to correct its footing, crashed to its side, sending maroon stones flying.

Before it could even react, the stranger was upon it, blazing sword in hand.

The beast let out a high-pitched squeal as the stranger brought down his sword, piercing the monster’s eye and sending the blade right through its brain.

The monster stilled, and Tommy and the stranger stared at the corpse, catching their breaths. It was a long few moments before they finally looked to each other, a hurricane of emotions battling behind their wide eyes.

Tommy pushed himself up from where he had fallen on the ground. The stranger’s gaze tracked his movements.

“Who the fuck are you?” He demanded.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, drawing his sword from the hoglin’s skull. “A ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

“What makes you think I needed your help?” Tommy questioned between panting breaths, raising his chin.

“You were cornered, with only a machete for protection,” the stranger said pointedly.

“If you can’t fight your way out of a corner on your own, it’s a miracle you survived this long,” Tommy jabbed, crossing his arms.

The annoyed stranger opened his mouth to reply, but Tommy’s curiosity bubbled out of his throat before he got the chance. “Also, what the hell is your sword?”

The stranger turned his sword over in his hand, glancing at the flames wreathing the iron and raising their angry fists to the air. “It’s enchanted with Fire Aspect,” he said simply. He returned the sword to the scabbard at his hip, and the flames disappeared as the blade entered its covering. He hopped over the hoglin carcass and approached Tommy. “You’re welcome, I suppose. My name’s Sapnap.”

“Tommy,” he replied simply. He glanced at the forest around them, heart still hammering against his chest as his adrenaline faded. His gaze fell on Sapnap’s arm. “You’re bleeding,” he observed.

Sapnap glanced down at his right bicep. “It’s shallow, I’ll be fine. Are you alright?”

Tommy’s eyebrows raised slightly, surprised Sapnap still cared about him despite his blatant disregard for the dark-haired man’s assistance. “I’m fine, a little shaken up is all.”

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” he noted, glancing over Tommy’s roughly bandaged cuts, charred clothes and heinously messy hair.

Tommy shrugged. “I’ve been here for a day, so you’re not far off.”

Sapnap snorted. “I’ve got some food and water back with the rest of my shit, want to come?”

Tommy considered it for a moment. Sapnap might know about a nearby portal, or could at least set him on the right track to finding one. The potential extra water and food was a nice bonus.

“Sure,” Tommy accepted. He inclined his head, gesturing for Sapnap to lead the way.

Sapnap took off with long strides, and Tommy fell into step beside him. “So, what are you doing in the Nether?” He asked.

Sapnap started untying his white headband and wrapping it tightly around his wound to stifle the blood flow. “I was here with my friends, we were gathering blaze rods at a Nether fortress.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. Sapnap and his friends must be a pretty strong team to go after blazes. He had heard stories aplenty of unprepared adventurers being burnt alive by the fiery monsters.

“But we got separated,” Sapnap continued, fingering his makeshift bandage distractedly. “So I’ve been searching for a portal so I can return to the Overworld and meet back up with them.”

They walked over to the low cliff Tommy had gotten cornered in, and Sapnap began climbing it, his belongings likely left at the top when he had jumped down to help Tommy. Tommy followed, climbing swiftly up the wall with practiced ease, reaching the edge far quicker than Sapnap.

“What are you doing in here?” Sapnap asked after finally managing to conquer the pitiful stretch of cliff face.

“Just looking for a portal out,” Tommy said. He knew that wasn’t exactly what Sapnap meant, but after the shitty week he’s had he thought himself inclined to not trust Sapnap with the reason he was in the Nether in the first place.

Sapnap didn’t push. They continued walking, and only a few moments later they exited the forest, arriving on a large netherrack ledge overlooking another lava lake. A cliff rose to their side and arched over them, and in the distance, Tommy heard the moaning of a ghast. It was far enough away it likely wouldn’t bother them.

Sapnap trotted over to the foot of the cliff, where several items had been left by the stones. A large rucksack was pulled tightly closed, and lying next to it was a pickaxe and a compass. He sat by the rucksack, pulling it open and rummaging around in it. Tommy trotted over and kneeled by him.

“Do you know where a nearby portal is?” Tommy asked.

Sapnap retrieved a few sausages of dried venison from his rucksack. He tossed one over to Tommy. “I found a marker a little ways back there,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction of the crimson forest. A thin trail along a cliff adjacent to the large ledge led to a valley of netherrack wasteland. “A gold sign pointing towards the direction I assume a portal is in.”

Tommy hummed. “Mind if I join you? I’ve been looking for a portal for a while.”

“Sure thing,” Sapnap said, settling down to start devouring his own sausage. “You’d probably get yourself killed otherwise.”

“Oi, dickhead! I was doing perfectly fine on my own,” Tommy snapped in exaggerated irritation. “You’ll just make it slightly easier for me to get out of this hellscape.” He took a bite from his sausage pointedly.

“Uh-huh,” Sapnap laughed. “And I’ll just be protecting you from every little mob like you’re a helpless child.”  
  


“Hey, if I hadn’t saved your ass, you’d be hoglin food,” Tommy exclaimed, waving his sausage in the air. “And I am not a child.”

“You look like one,” Sapnap remarked.

“I do not!” Tommy shouted.

“You absolutely do,” Sapnap chortled.

“I’m taller than you,” Tommy argued.

Sapnap hummed, grinning at the blonde’s expression. “Makes how childish you look even more impressive.”

Tommy chucked a stone at Sapnap, who batted it away, laughing. After complaining some more, Tommy soon joined him, venison forgotten in his hand as he laughed.

Tommy relaxed, relief lightening his heart. He hadn’t realized how badly he had missed the company of another human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap joins the party!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I have no idea when the next chapter will be up considering i have no schedule, but if you're interested, stay tuned! I'm planning this fic to go on for a little while.


End file.
